


common denominators

by mutterandmumble



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Ambiguous Alternate Universe, Banter, Domestic, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Fluff, Living Together, M/M, Spiders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:41:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25080298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mutterandmumble/pseuds/mutterandmumble
Summary: Little, everyday problems and their little, everyday solutionsOr: Iwaizumi and Oikawa’s Great Spider Catching Adventure
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 8
Kudos: 56





	common denominators

**Author's Note:**

> cw for descriptions of spiders and general mentions of spiders/bugs
> 
> The basic thought process behind this was Iwaizumi “used to keep cicadas in jars but let them go because he felt guilty” Hajime would absolutely catch bugs to put them outside, and Oikawa just seems like the sort of person to enjoy like… harmless little fights or causing petty problems for the purpose of causing petty problems. Icons, both of them.
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy!!

It’s a Saturday afternoon, the drowsy kind where the sun is tucked behind the clouds and the clouds are foam-gray and heavy and forcing everyone indoors because they’re drizzling bursts and spatters of rain. Iwaizumi is lying on the couch with his feet up on one end and his head propped up on the other, arm dragging over the side and face distorted into something soft and misshapen because one of the cushions is poking into his cheek and that makes his cheek poke up into his eye and from there it’s one big domino-effect that turns all his features to mush. The TV is on and it’s playing the sort of banal, lifeless show that it ought to be playing on such a banal, lifeless afternoon; there’s a lady on the screen and she’s looking to buy a big, obscenely expensive house, but as life is nothing without a little conflict she’s forced to consider two other big, obscenely expensive houses too.

It’s mindless and stupid and that’s quite alright because right now Iwaizumi’s just trying to  _ sleep.  _ He’s had a long few days but now he’s got a rare few hours of free time, and because he’s the sort of person who knows what he wants and then goes and gets it- he doesn’t get anything from beating around the bush, so why bother- he’s going to get some fucking  _ rest.  _ He’s nearly got it too, feels his eyelids sliding shut and the front of his mind going blank as the lady laments over the lack of a properly-styled tub (what does that even  _ mean,  _ how many different sorts of bathtubs can there be) in Obscenely Expensive House #3 and the rain outside continues its steady pitter-patter at the one big window by the kitchen. He’s right on the cusp, warm and heavy from inaction, thoughts slowed to a trickle and the knitted blanket he’d stolen from Oikawa’s side of the bed as payback for the many times Oikawa’s stolen  _ his _ blankets in the middle of the night squished up against his chest, weighing him down into sleep

And then someone shrieks _. _

Iwaizumi bolts upright, giving a very undignified squawk of his own. Everything seems to be moving too fast to his sleep-drunk brain, the lady on the screen talking in slow motion and his legs heavy as lead as he tries to position them in the general direction of whatever it is that’s making that noise without getting himself tangled in the blanket. He fails miserably. Somehow it ends up wrapped around his waist and tangled through his left arm, draped around him like a fucked-up toga that is  _ not _ exactly doing wonders for his (cool, stoic,  _ cool again,  _ dammit, he’s  _ cool _ ) image as the rain continues it’s single-handed assault against their poor, poor window, and Iwaizumi fails yet again to get his head on straight. 

“What the fuck?” he babbles in one long, drawn out groan, voice thick with almost-sleep. “Fuck. Shit. Fuck.”

The shrieking cuts out for a moment.  _ “Language!”  _ a voice trills from down the hall, light and happy and not at all concerned before delving into a stream of obscenities colorful enough to rival some of Oikawa’s worse outfits. Iwaizumi shakes his head to rid himself of that thought because the  _ last _ thing that he needs to think about when he’s disoriented is Oikawa’s spiral-patterned button-up, and then immediately regrets it because  _ groggy  _ does not mix well with  _ movement,  _ much less  _ fast movement,  _ so now not only is he awake but he’s got a pounding headache too. And he’s still thinking about the spiral shirt, which doesn’t help at  _ all  _ because that shirt is enough to make anyone with an ounce of sense- fashion or otherwise- feel sick.

But half-asleep or not, he should probably go check on that. Make sure that his boyfriend hasn’t set something on fire (again) or broken something (again) or accidentally let a bird or wasp or other small animal in through the window ( _ again _ ). So Iwaizumi wrangles the blanket off from his torso and tosses it back to the couch, takes a moment to shiver because holy  _ fuck  _ it’s cold, and then heads on down the hallway to see what it is that’s happened this time. The apartment that he and Oikawa share is not big, which is fine most of the time because they’ve got a thousand other obligations that keep them out and about but is especially useful right now because it means that he doesn’t have to walk all that far to find the source of the racket. Which is, of course, Oikawa. He wouldn’t dream of letting anything else cause a scene, not in  _ their  _ apartment, because Oikawa lives with the perpetual belief that he’s got something to prove and likes to go above and beyond to prove it, even on his days off. 

So there Oikawa is in the hallway, wearing his favorite t-shirt (bought from a frozen yogurt shop of all places, which is weird as _fuck_ but it _is_ a comfortable shirt so Iwaizumi lets it slide) and pink-plaid pajama pants. He’s got a rolled up magazine in one hand and his _Kiss My Ace_ mug in the other, the one that was a joke gift from his classmates in high school but that he uses everyday regardless because Oikawa has a horrible sense of humor and thinks it’s funny when Iwaizumi gets all red and grumbly and embarrassed. He waves them wildly while he shouts and threatens and makes sure that the light hits the side of his face just _so_ all the while, because Oikawa takes great pride in looking good while doing ridiculous things. _It cancels it out,_ he’d told Iwaizumi one day, serious as can be. _Like in math, but the math is just me being hot and there aren’t any numbers so not really like math at all_.

Iwaizumi still does not know what he meant by that. What he  _ does  _ know is that there’s no immediate danger, so Oikawa is either trying to rope Iwaizumi into some scheme or he’s  _ already  _ roped Iwaizumi into some scheme and is just waiting for him to realize it. And the more that he thinks about it, the more that Iwaizumi realizes yeah, yeah, that’s probably what’s going on here, because the thing about Oikawa is that if he wants something, whether it be company or someone to bother or the  _ good  _ seat on the bus, he typically ends up getting it. Living with him is like being caught in a riptide if a riptide was a six-foot tall professional athlete who’s been cooped up inside all day and never learned how to take a fucking  _ break. _

And Iwaizumi is already here in the hallway instead of being asleep, already awake and getting bored because of it (as much as he pretends otherwise, his attention span is nonexistent these days), which means that at some point between waking up and getting to the hallway he jumped headfirst into the ocean and now he’s gotta face the facts; he’s not getting back out anytime soon. So he takes a deep breath in, resigns himself as quickly as he knows how, blinks  _ really _ hard once for good measure, and then he plays along. He taps Oikawa’s shoulder and looks at him, unimpressed as he falls silent and lets his chest heave once or twice for effect. 

“What are you doing,” Iwaizumi says flatly, no inflection at all.

“Good. You’re here,” Oikawa replies, straightening up and breathing even and snapping right into business mode like he wasn’t just yelling at an indiscernible spot on the floor. He puts the hand with the mug on his hip and gestures with the other, pointing the magazine down the hall in one fast, fluid gesture and then holding it there, aiming at absolutely nothing. “There’s a spider. I need you to do that thing where you catch it under a cup and take it outside.”

“Why don’t you just do it yourself?” Iwaizumi asks, because Oikawa literally took a spider outside by himself just the other day and has actively been doing so for  _ years,  _ as Iwaizumi’s never liked it when people kill bugs and Oikawa’s been attached to his hip for as long as the two of them have been alive. By this point in their lives they swap out habits as easily as they do clothes, and even if they didn’t the  _ spider habit  _ is a non-negotiable one so Oikawa absorbed it  _ ages  _ ago, back when they were still little ten-year-olds cooing over worms on the sidewalk alongside Oikawa’s older sister.

“It’s a very scary spider,” Oikawa insists. He points with the magazine again, sharp enough and fast enough that it makes a loud  _ thwap.  _ “Right there! See! Look at how fucking  _ big  _ it is!”

Iwaizumi looks, and he sees nothing. So he looks a little harder, squinting and tilting his head and leaning forwards while Oikawa maneuvers himself behind him, creeping over his shoulder and making rude faces at the spider that is apparently there somewhere but that Iwazumi can’t  _ see  _ because they’re halfway down the hallway and even if the hallway isn’t all that big, it’s big enough that he can’t spot a spider when he’s dead-tired and one of their lightbulbs burned out ages ago. He’s so focused on trying to  _ find  _ it that he hardly notices when Oikawa shoves the magazine and mug into his hands, and even then it takes ten more seconds and a tiny, tiny black speck on the wall moving for Iwaizumi to realize that yes, there is a spider over there, but it’s so small that it’s hardly even a spider at all and he really passed up a nap for this didn’t he?

“That’s barely even a spider,” Iwaizumi says. That feels very important to point out, because that’s  _ barely even a spider  _ and this is a lot of fuss for something that is  _ barely even a spider.  _ “That’s a dot. You’re scared of a dot.”

“Yes, yes, terrified,” Oikawa hums. He’s pressed up against Iwaizumi’s side now, draped over his back and clutching onto his bicep as his long, spindly fingers dip down and around and up in small circles. He’s very close and using the high-pitched, whiny voice he prefers when he’s bored but in a good mood despite it, and between that and the way that he seems to be using the opportunity to prod at his muscles, Iwaizumi is beginning to suspect ulterior motives. “Look at it! Look at all its legs! All its eyes!  _ Horrifying,  _ don’t you think?” 

He digs his knuckle into Iwaizumi’s shoulder. His breath is coming in hot puffs against the back of his neck, tickling the bristly strands of hair and all the little, sensitive bits of skin, and Iwaizumi pushes him up and away because that is not conducive to catching spiders. Oikawa wobbles off to the side, crossing his arms and flicking his bangs out of his eyes and crooking a finger into the collar of his shirt (for 2,700 yen, you too can be a walking advertisement for a subpar yogurt shop) until it dips just low enough to show off the sharp edge of his left collarbone, which is a habit of his leftover from his more performative college years and is also, unfortunately, one that Iwaizumi has picked up too. 

“You can’t even see its legs,” he says instead of dwelling on how many  _ other  _ actions of his stem from Oikawa. Thoughts like that only ever lead down sentimental rabbit holes and Iwaizumi is too tired to go hopping down memory lane. “Or its eyes! You can hardly see _ it _ !”

“Don’t be mean,” Oikawa tells him, flicking his arm. “He’s fine just the way he is.”

Iwazumi brushes him off, giving him the best look of disbelief he’s got. “Weren’t you  _ just  _ saying that you thought he was horrifying?”

“They’re not mutually exclusive,” Oikawa explains, looking very sure of himself for someone who is stringing all these words together like they actually mean something. “I mean I might think that he’s a _ disgusting  _ little monster, but I’m sure all of his spider friends think that he’s very handsome. He’s very popular. Captain of the spider volleyball team, king of spider prom, voted Best Eyes in his spider yearbook.”

“I’m going to sleep,” Iwaizumi says, and then turns around to walk off because he doesn’t have to stand for this. 

“ _ Wait _ !” Oikawa yelps, and when Iwaizumi makes the mistake of turning back around he latches onto his arm, palm resting warm and heavy over his shoulder and weight pushing into his side. “You’ve still gotta catch him. Otherwise this would’ve all been for nothing, right? And look at him,  _ look  _ at him, he’s terrifying! if you caught him then you’d have bragging rights for a whole week! You would’ve caught the king of spider prom, Iwa-chan, think about the kind of  _ pull  _ that would give you with the rest of the spider student body, they’d make you the non-spider king of spider prom.”

“You’re not making any sense,” Iwazumi tells him, but he still shrugs him off and somehow ends up advancing down the hallway with the mug and magazine held at the ready anyways, because this  _ is  _ what he signed up for when he’d looked at Oikawa all those years ago and realized (dramatically, as seems to be the theme with them) that he was in love. He is a very weak person, every now and then. He folds like a particularly smitten piece of paper.

So away he goes, wielding his weapons of choice and doing exactly what he knew he would end up doing the minute that Oikawa asked, because he’s been at this for years and years on end by now and the end result hasn’t changed one bit. The actual catching of the spider doesn’t take too long, just ten seconds of quiet coaxing and then he’s got it. Oikawa lingers further back, shouting words of encouragement every now and then-  _ don’t let him get away again, almost had him that time, hey have you seen my blanket it wasn’t on the bed- _ but despite him (or maybe because of him, Iwaizumi is a little out of it by this point), Iwaizumi manages to get the spider up and out the door. He takes it downstairs and puts it outside, as he always does. Oikawa does not come because he claims that he has some  _ very important spider-related things to think over. _

“I’ve been thinking about it,” he says when Iwaizumi has made the trek all the way back up the stairs and back into their apartment, sopping wet because the rain hasn’t let up a bit. He doesn’t even give him a second to breathe, just launches into it from his perch on the counter. He’s swinging his feet- which are covered in bright green alien socks, which were another gag gift and are  _ also _ used consistently- and has on his contemplating face, which is a pinched brow and a pinched mouth and a very curated swoop of the hair made to look messy but not  _ too  _ messy. “And I think that maybe you should go back out and find that spider so we can keep him as a pet. I got attached when he was menacing me with that stupid face of his, the little  _ monster.  _ Gave him a name and everything.”

“What?” Iwaizumi asks, meaning  _ what the hell makes you think I’d be able to find that spider again, I just put it  _ outside _ , outside is really fucking  _ big, _ how do you think this works,  _ but Oikawa just knocks his heel against the counter and takes it as an invitation to carry on. 

“Tobio-chan,” he says. “I’ve decided that you’re gonna find the spider, and then we’re gonna keep him and we’re gonna call him Tobio-chan.”

_ Thump, thump, thump  _ go his heels against the counter. He’s got his fingers hooked over the sides and his hands pressed flat, his head tilted to the side and a placid little smile on his face, as doe-eyed and innocent as they come.

“I’m going to  _ sleep _ ,” Iwaizumi announces. “For real this time.”

And then he turns on his heel so that his smile isn’t visible (but Oikawa probably knows anyways, the bastard) and stomps off back to the couch, back to the TV which is showing a new episode of the same show he was watching before (and now he’ll  _ never  _ know which obscenely expensive house rich lady picked), and he throws himself down, shutting his eyes tight and ignoring the way that Oikawa cackles from his spot on top on the counter. He wraps himself back in the blanket and buries his face in the armrest and carefully tunes out Oikawa’s intermittent bursts of laughter, something he’s gotten very good at because life with Oikawa is a lot of things but it’s never really quiet.

Although- and he can only admit this to himself because he’s nearly asleep and disgustingly sentimental when his guard’s down like this- he wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> Please consider leaving a comment if you enjoyed!! I love hearing from you guys!!
> 
> Also, three things that don’t matter at all to the fic but matter to me: Oikawa’s fashion choices here are only half ironic, he’s not scared of spiders at _all_ , and he made the knitted blanket that’s mentioned in exactly one line. I think that I might expand on that in another fic because pushing my hobbies onto characters that I like is a favorite pastime of mine, but I’ve been busy getting ready for college among other things so it might take a while


End file.
